


Silent Hatred

by avellere



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-16
Updated: 2007-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avellere/pseuds/avellere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about how Jak got his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Hatred

I never liked the sound of my own voice.

It is a deep, hoarse sound, one made from pain and suffering. And that's how I got my voice, anyway. What, you think I got my voice from birth, that I've had it all my life? No. I didn't. You've had your voice for as long as you can remember, yet I've just gotten it three years ago.

They say seventeen is a lucky number (Or was it thirteen? I don't know). Not for me. Well, maybe, from a sick, twisted point of view. Still, I myself don't think I'm very lucky. Hell, I think I don't get any good luck at all!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, my voice. I hate it (Did I mention that already? Sorry.) and I wish I didn't have one. Of course, I shouldn't be saying that. Truth is, I really wanted one all my life. I was born mute. Silent, voiceless. And no one knows why. Was it a disease that made me speechless? Perhaps I witnessed something horrible and tragic and now I'm too shocked to speak? I don't know myself. All I knew was that I couldn't talk.

If someone asks me a yes or no question, I would just nod or shake my head. If people said "Say something." I would point to my throat and shake my head. However, if asked a complicated question, I shrug. Simple as that, really. Most of the time, my pal Daxter acts as my voice.

Then came the fateful day in which my life was changed forever. I was fifteen years old at the time. Keira, Daxter and I were standing in front of a portal, and Samos was talking to me (of course, I wasn't paying any attention). I was excited, anxious, scared and nervous. If I went through that portal, where would I end up? Or perhaps I never went anywhere, just stayed in the portal for all eternity and perished? All that and more questions ran through my mind as I stood there. Then I thought Hell! This is the first time I've ever been out of Sandover! I shouldn't be worrying! Nothing's going to happen to me! (Ah yes, me and my "I'm invincible" speech)

Boy was I wrong.

As Keira activated the portal, a monster came out. Looked at me straight in the eye. And obviously, he recognized me because he said, "You cannot escape from me boy! I will find you!" (Wow. Talk about first impressions).

I was too shocked to move. Keira screamed at me "Jak, _do something_!" Daxter freaked out. As soon as he saw the monster, he started shrieking and pressing every button he could find (which was all of them).

The result? Utter chaos.

The chair we were all sitting on began shaking violently, and then lurched forward, throwing us headfirst into the portal. I couldn't see anything for a while except blinding light. I was aware of Daxter being either in front or beside me, screaming. I didn't know where Keira or Samos was.

And then as soon as it had happened, it stopped. Awkwardly. Daxter and I came flying out of the portal, and crashed onto the ground. Hard ground, similar to metal, not soft dirt like a village. We had landed in a city. It looked almost futuristic; with tall buildings and guards dressed in red armor everywhere (I learned later that these were Krimzon Guards). People were riding hover vehicles, walking along the road, chatting to one another. Acting as though nothing had happened. Occasionally, they would stop and stare at me for a while, wondering who I was and where I had come from, and then move on. I looked out of place, with my old-fashioned clothing and no shoes.

And then it happened.

One of the citizens had spotted me, and started walking towards me, accompanied by several of the guards dressed in red. He was wearing a yellow-and-navy-colored suit, with dark red shoulder and chest guards, and was holding a pistol in his right hand, signaling to people with his left. His features were normal: Brown eyes, pale skin, and flaming red-orange hair. He also wore a grey mask on the top of his head, with red lens, and a gun holster strapped to his right thigh. He would have been unnoticed except for the tattoos he had on the sides of his face and the tips of his ears.

As he stood in front of me, I started to back away. For one thing, I didn't know this man; he was a complete stranger. For another, he looked intimidating, like he was going to attack me any minute. And he did, actually. Not him, personally, but one of the guards with him.

All he said to me was "We've been waiting for you." Then I felt a sudden pain on the side of my head. The last thing I heard before I was dragged off to hell was Daxter saying "Don't worry, Jak! I'll get you out of there before you know it!"

Then…nothing.

I woke up in a cell. A filthy, smelly cell. I realized that I was the only one inside, and, as I looked over myself, saw that I had been stripped of my normal clothes. Instead, I wore a mustard-yellow shirt and pants, with a purple collar. I was also barefoot. _Very_ stylish, wouldn't you agree? I think so too ( _Not!_ ).

There were other prisoners, rest assured. They've been here longer than I have. Like me, they were filthy, but they also looked beaten and starved. As I watched, I saw the same man that had brought me here open a cell across from me and remove its occupant: A young man, about my age, maybe older. He dragged him down the hallway and into another room.

Two minutes later, the screaming started.

It was a horrible sound, pitched and strained. It sounded like he was being tortured, or worse. I covered my ears, but the sound went through my hands, filling my mind with pictures, images. The screaming went on for a while, never pausing to draw breath. Then it slowly faded away into moans, still filled with pain. Minutes passed and then the tortured person reappeared, along with the guards and the man. They put him back into his cell, and then vanished.

They did the same to another person later on. Took her out of the cell, dragged her down the hallway, into the same room. Again the screaming started, and again I covered my ears. I still heard them. Then, during another experiment, where I had given up on trying to block out the chaos and was just sitting in my cell, there was a choking sound, then silence. Then there was a sickening _thud_ , several voices talking, and then more silence.

The test subject had died.

They avoided me for a while, refusing to use me. I, of course, was grateful. I didn't want to be tortured, didn't want to die like that, trapped and helpless. But eventually, my luck ran out. They came for me, Errol and his Krimzon Guards (Errol is the man who captured and brought me here). They dragged me to the room, strapped me to the test table and injected me with Dark Eco.

Over the months I had been in my cell, I had gathered information on the place. I learned that this was a prison/lab, ideal for bringing people in and "enhancing" them for the war in Haven City, the place I had landed in. The city was ruled by a man named Baron Praxis. He was also in charge of our suffering. I had found out that we were part of a program called the Dark Warriors. The program consisted of capturing the strongest, cleverest people in the city. People with special abilities, unique skills. They were brought in and injected with types of eco, usually dark. Most died, and very few survived or escaped.

Once I knew what they were doing to us, to me, I rebelled. I was no longer going to just stand there and take the punishment. I was going to waste my last breath on a curse to the enemy, or a victory cry. I was going to die fighting.

I also tried to escape several times. No strategies succeeded. Days passed and I didn't waver. I continued rebelling, attacking the guards whenever they went into my cell. They considered me a challenge, that I was smarter and stronger than the others, a fun game that they played when bored. They enjoyed every moment of it, every time they succeeded in capturing me, every time they didn't. Every struggle, every triumph, every loss, they took pleasure in. They loved me, in a sick, twisted humorless way.

I was getting quite tired of it.

My only weakness was the tests themselves. I could handle getting beaten, getting pummeled, getting smacked in the face. Yes, those I could handle, that I could take and still come back for more. But getting a shot, a needle being shoved into my skin? I couldn't stand the sight of one.

And unfortunately, they had plenty of those. Plenty. They practically had thousands and thousands of needles stashed away in some secret compartment. And a lot more Dark Eco. A _lot_ more.

And among the Dark Eco, among all the pain and suffering, along with all those experiments was… my voice.

I was still in prison at the time. Two years had passed. I was still in rebellion and had plenty of scars to show the evidence. I was now seventeen years old, still wearing my old prison garb. Nothing much had changed, except for my appearance. My hair, for instance. Instead of being spiked up like it was when I first came here, it was grown longer (and dirtier) and was now sort of slicked back. Permanently. Strange, isn't it?

I was in the middle of yet another experiment (I've had so many, I lost count). I was strapped to the table, screaming my lungs out, getting Dark Eco pumped into me. So far, my screaming was silent. Nobody could hear it, not even the ones right next to the table. Since I was born mute, no one can hear my cries. But I was in a lot of pain, I assure you. It was practically singing in my veins.

Then… it came.

It started out as a gurgle at first, a watery sound from deep inside my throat. As the experiments continued, it expanded, spreading throughout my entire body. The pain lessened. I began to cough, choking on blood. Blood and bits of tissue and flesh. Then, my body jolted, and I went into a seizure, twitching violently. I no longer felt any pain from the test, only a dull vibration. I didn't care. All I wanted was to get what was bothering me out.

And out it came. In a single, spasmed cough, blood came spraying from my mouth all over my already filthy clothes and the needle. Then, as the red liquid flowed down my jaw and chin, I lifted my head, opened my mouth once again-

And screamed.

I screamed and screamed constantly. Roaring in pain, writhing, hands curled into fists, completely defenseless. It came from inside myself, my chest, and emerged as a hoarse, deep noise. A cry of suffering, never pausing to breathe. On and on it went-

Wait. Should I end it now? Or keep going with my story? Hmmmm. Of course, I am not reading the story, I am only telling it. So, I should ask you, the reader. Do you want me to go on? I mean, I have told you almost everything. That is basically how I got my voice. Take a moment and think. Okay, are you done? If not, can you hurry up? I have places to go, things to see. Oh wait, I don't. Ha-ha. Anyway, are you finished? And what is your answer? Yes? No? Maybe so? If you want for me to continue, I will.

As for the others…well, you don't know what you're missing.

Then, as the test ended, as I lay there, exhausted and in agony, they started to talk. "They" are Baron Praxis and the scientists, the people who do the leader's dirty work. Normally, I wouldn't blame them (they were probably threatened. Who knows?), but now, right then and there, I hated them with all my heart and soul. Even more than I hated Praxis, more than I hated Errol. I mean, why couldn't they even try to help? Why did they just stand there and watch while I was tortured? They could (and _should_ ) turn the machine off, free me, and offer some way of getting me out of this hellhole. But they didn't.

They talked for a while. I didn't want to listen. I was too tired, and my mind was numb, functionless. And I was covered in blood. Not exactly the definition of comfortable.

Then I heard them. The words that would ensure my escape, my first breath of pure, fresh air ever since I came here.

And one that ended in death.

Do you wish to know what those words were? Fine, I shall tell you, even though you shall wish you have never known them (or wanted to know them).

_Finish off that… **thing** …tonight._

Yes, those were the exact words. Ones that were spoken in a neutral tone, between disgust and spite. They were going to get rid of me. They didn't want to work on me anymore. I was worthless.

Yes!

Now you might ask "What's so cheering about that? They're going to dispose of you!" but, then again, _you_ aren't in prison. I am. And compared to what I've been through, death is (literally) a blessing. And besides, who said I was going to die? I might survive. _Might_. There's a fifty percent chance of me going through the whole ordeal and coming out alive. And the other fifty percent? I'd rather not talk about it.

And who was the lucky person who was going to toss me into the trash? Errol. And, unlike the others, he was actually going to enjoy it. Out of all the people I despised, it had to be him. Great news for me, eh?

No, he didn't dispose of me immediately. He tossed me around a bit, grabbed me by the front of my shirt, spat in my face. Then he got tired of that and walked out of the room to who-knows-where, leaving me alone, tied to the test table, and thinking to myself.

A few minutes later, he came back. And you know what he did? No, he still didn't get rid of me.

_He wanted me to say something._

I'm not kidding. He really wanted me to do that, to speak. I mean, here I am, still tied to the test table, half-conscious, and he wants to start a conversation! With _me_! The very person who he was supposed to finish off. Was he pulling my chain? Or was he checking to make sure that I was still breathing, so he could make my (incredibly short and already tormented enough) life more miserable? I didn't know and I didn't care.

But since he told me to say something…

I snapped my eyes open, looked him straight in the eye, and bellowed, "I'm going to kill Praxis!"

Now, a person's first words are usually said as an infant, a young, innocent child that knows nothing about the horrors of the world. And they usually say what is in front of them, the first thing that they see: Their mom and dad. Their family.

Not me. I didn't know my father or mother, and I probably never will. Sad, isn't it? And to make matters worse, standing in front of me was a person who worked for a madman. And enjoyed taunting me, abusing me. So of course I had to say something mean. Wouldn't you if you were in my shoes? Yes you would.

Ha-ha. It's funny. When first born, all you say is nothing, just babbles and a bunch of nonsense. Then, as time progresses, you start to speak. Speak adorable, amusing words that everyone loves, words like "Mama" or "Papa". But I was born mute. I tried to speak, countless times. Oh, how I longed to share my thoughts, my feelings to the world. And when I finally did have my voice, I said I wanted to murder someone. I'd spoken words of anger and hatred. But, then again, I wasn't a baby. I was a teen and had experienced the world already, how cruel it was. I couldn't blame myself, couldn't take back those insults.

And if you thought that my life couldn't get any harder, any more complicated, it did. And it came in the form of a monster.

It had pale blue skin and its hair was white. Its fingers were adorned with eight inch black claws at the ends, and long, curved fangs protruded from the sides of its mouth. Sharp horns jutted out from its skull. But the most intimidating features were it eyes. They had no pupils, just pure black soulless orbs and were filled with loathing.

And it was _me_.

I was the freak. I was it. And I wanted to kill Errol. I almost did. But then, _he_ appeared. _Him._ My best friend. The one who promised to rescue me. The rat with orange fur.

_Daxter._

As soon as I saw him, I stopped and Errol disappeared. Just vanished into thin air. But Daxter was still there. And then I realized: there was no Errol. He had been an illusion. I had thought that Daxter was Errol and had attacked him.

 _I had almost_ _**killed**_ _my best friend! My rescuer! My savior!_

Damn.

But he forgave me. He got me out of there, that prison. And for that, I was grateful. I also owed him a _big_ favor. Oh, and I needed to find out how to control my dark side. But as I found out later, it was pretty useful, and at one point, saved my life.

But that's another story, for a different time.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is takes place mostly around Jak 2. The Dark Eco experiment takes place at the beginning of the game.
> 
> I do NOT own Jak and Daxter. It belongs to Naughty Dog.


End file.
